A Winter's Tale
by ficmouse
Summary: I wrote this a long time ago for Kasca Black. I stopped posting - reality got in the way as it has a habit of doing but I've never stopped writing. It is a stand alone fic, completely AU and total wish fulfilment. I hope Sam and Dylan fans will enjoy it for what it is.


A Winter's Tale

The cold woke him from a restless sleep; rain was hammering on the roof of the small boat and bouncing off the water outside. It was still early but should have been lighter than it was in his small cabin. Dylan pushed aside the heavy curtain and gazed out at a murky grey world. A good old fashioned sea mist shrouded the marina and the rain was coming down in sideways sheets drenching everything. He reflected that at least the drumming of the rain drowned out the noise of Zoe and Max. He was amazed Zoe could keep up with the very young man's enthusiasm but he knew better than to comment. She'd have every right to talk about pots and kettles.

It was none of his business anyway. Except that seeing them together made him feel even more alone than he had before. He'd been pleased when Zoe had come to stay when they returned from Mozambique because her company had eased his loneliness or at least allowed him to avoid confronting it. Now she had Max and they retreated to his spare room every evening leaving him feeling like an intruder in his own home. Once again he was on the outside looking in at all the things he could never have.

Dylan tried unsuccessfully to go to back to sleep, burrowing under the covers in a vain attempt to get warm. The heating wasn't due to come on for at least another hour and after five minutes he gave up - he was going to have to get up and turn it on. He stood by the kettle in his dressing gown enjoying the welcome sound of the boiler firing up and water starting to gurgle in the pipes. Now he was up he might as well make a coffee to take back to bed.

He stared idly out of the window while he waited for his coffee to brew. It was like looking in at himself - a vast grey coldness that nothing could ever warm. Dervla milled around his feet obviously intimating that she felt it was time he fed her and then took her out for a walk. He bent to stroke her ears, he was well aware everyone thought he loved his dog not wisely but too well. The truth was rather simpler – his dog was the only living thing who loved him. She was all he had so of course he lavished attention on her. He was well aware his adored mutt was growing older and that without her he would have nothing at all. He had so many regrets he wasn't going to add to them by omitting any small thing he could do for his dog.

Speaking of regrets he knew what he was going to do today, he supposed he'd always known. That was why he'd phoned Mrs Thingie yesterday and then gone to the supermarket on the way home to stock up. He poured the rest of his coffee into a thermos. Zoe and Max could make their own when or if they ever emerged from the spare room. He and Dervla were going out.

He hurried through the necessary arrangements: feeding Dervla, packing supplies in a cool bag – not that one was likely to be necessary today, dressing hurriedly in warm clothes and shoving a few spare things into a bag as he had a feeling he might decide not to come back until tomorrow. After grabbing a bacon sandwich at a greasy spoon; he was rather fond of, near the marina, he and his dog were in the car and heading across windswept hills and rain soaked fields.

His destination wasn't that far from Holby; if he'd wanted to he could still live in the small village in the Mendip Hills he used to call home, but it might as well have been a hundred miles away. Usually it took about an hour to drive there but today the road conditions were so poor it was closer to two as he drove higher and the road dwindled into narrow lanes there were patches of ice and rolling banks of fog, which meant sometimes he'd plunge into a grey mist in which visibility was almost nil and he had to slow down and watch the white lines to stay on the road at all.

He turned off the main road if you could call it that and turned into a narrow village street, pulling off the road when he reached the old grey stone church that loomed up at him out of the haze. He didn't need to see his way anymore it was all too familiar to him. He picked his way towards the sheltered corner at the far end of the churchyard underneath the boughs of an ancient Yew tree and close to the stone wall. The mist didn't quite reach the ground so he could see the bright colours of the crocuses - saffron, amethyst, pearly white and the tiny snowdrops that grew abundantly in the velvety mossy grass sheltering those who had rested there for centuries. He was nearly there before he realised someone else had got there before him. For a moment he considered retracing his steps and returning later when he could have the place to himself but they'd heard his feet crunching on the gravel and turned towards him.

"Dylan," Sam sounded completely incredulous.

"Sam." He acknowledged her awkwardly. He hadn't expected this although if he'd considered it at all it would have made sense. He'd thought she'd be too wrapped up in her smug new life to care – hell he'd wondered if she'd be having breakfast in bed with flowers and a card and have left the past well and truly behind her even if he never could. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"How could I not be here? I didn't expect to see you though?" Sam sounded faintly accusing.

She looked bloody awful. It wasn't easy to see through the gloom but she was thinner than ever and her white face glowed in the dim light. As he got closer he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the puffy reddened eyes. Sam had clearly been crying for a long time.

"I had to come." He admitted. "I've been laying awake most of the night thinking about today."

He slid an arm around her not knowing what else he could do or say. He could feel her shoulders shaking with sobs. It answered one question though Sam was about as far from moving on as he was. She hadn't forgotten either. Something flickered into life somewhere deep inside him. For all he hated for her to be so miserable it was reassuring to know that she too hadn't been able to put the past behind her and she did still care.

They both turned towards the place where they'd buried their hopes and dreams and with it their marriage. Unthinkingly Dylan's fingers traced the words on the icy stone. "Frederick Keogh 2 January 2009 – 15 March 2009".

"Freddie would be six." Sam choked out. "He'd be at school."

He held her tighter because he didn't have any words. That had been a lot of the problem. He'd never known what to say or do after they'd lost their precious son and somehow instead of bringing them closer together the grief had driven them further and further apart until she'd sought comfort elsewhere and found a broader shoulder than his to cry on. Perhaps if known how to give her what she needed he wouldn't have lost his wife as well as his baby son.

She was crying again her tears soaking into his neck and he stroked the sheet of long fair hair because he had no idea how to ease her pain. She continued to cry for some time and the only thing Dylan could think of to do was carry on holding her, stroke her hair and murmur endearments until she calmed down. He hated it when she cried he always felt out of his depth and never knew how to console her. Eventually the sobs died away to soft snuffles against his shoulder.

"I miss him too." He said eventually.

"Do you?" She turned accusing blue eyes to his. "In Holby you didn't mention his name – not once. You didn't even want anyone to know we'd ever been together let alone tell them about Freddie. It was as if he'd never existed."

"I was waiting for you to say something." He excused himself weakly. "I didn't want to say the wrong thing and upset you and I thought perhaps you didn't want anyone to know. You didn't talk about him either."

It was true. He'd been absolutely terrified of upsetting the hard won emotional balance she seemed to have found and had trodden on eggshells for the fifteen months they'd been together in Holby. He'd been so afraid of saying the wrong thing he'd said nothing at all and evidently that had been wrong too.

"How could I tell everyone we had a son when you hadn't bothered to tell anyone that you had a wife? It was as if Freddie and I were a dirty secret you were ashamed of." Sam explained resentfully.

"Never!" he cried stung. "Sam how could you think that. I didn't want people to gossip about either of you that's all. I couldn't bear Linda's fake sympathy or Nick's concern. Freddie was far too special for other people to turn him into the latest hot topic on the hospital grapevine. He was our son and I loved him."

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that." Sam admitted "I did know you hadn't forgotten him when I found the card in my locker."

Dylan relaxed slightly Sam had never acknowledged the gesture before and he'd never known if it had helped or made things worse. The Mother's Day they'd both worked in Holby he'd bought her a simple card, written "Because you'll always be Freddie's Mummy." inside and slid it unsigned into her locker when no one was looking for her to find later.

"I was worried I'd make it worse." He confessed. "But I couldn't pretend it was just another day either."

"It made me cry." She said briefly.

"I'm sorry I never meant..." He trailed off.

"Don't be. It was always going to be a dreadful day." Sam shrugged. "It helped knowing that someone else remembered Freddie existed I'd have cried even more if I thought his Daddy had forgotten him."

"I should have done more." Dylan was full of repentance. "Suggested we come out here or we went somewhere and talked."

"Why change the habit of a lifetime?" Sam replied. "I could have brought Freddie up when you gave me the opportunity and... and I didn't. I was afraid if I once let down my guard I'd never get it back up again."

He wondered if Tom had planned anything to help Sam bear what was always a very difficult day this year. He assumed not as she was here alone. Did Tom even know about Freddie? He wondered if he dared to ask. On the whole he decided it would be better not to. This was between him and Sam and he didn't want Tom contaminating his memories of his son.

"I've made a mess of everything." He admitted sadly. "I'm sorry."

"I think it was more we made a mess of everything." Sam's voice was equally sad. "Sometimes I wonder if it was a good thing Freddie died because I'd probably have been a terrible mother. Our poor baby."

"You were never that." He reassured her "We were happy and so was he."

"He's still the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing before I go to sleep." Sam confessed. "I keep wondering about how life would have been if he'd lived. Everything would have been so different. He'd be such a big boy now."

He held her tight against him oblivious to the cold and the light drizzle that was steadily falling from a sky in which what little daylight there had been was already beginning to fade. Sam buried her face in his shoulder, and he was aware that the moisture on his own face wasn't all from the rain. Now that the tears had started he wasn't sure he could stop them, his fear of losing control was fast becoming a reality. It was only when the rain began to fall heavily drenching the pair of them in seconds that they made any attempt to move.

"We can't stay here. We'll get pneumonia." He said at last. "Come back to the cottage and warm up darling."

The endearment slipped out without him noticing and he wondered if she'd picked up on it but it seemed Sam's distress was still so acute it went over her head. She was more interested in the first half of his sentence anyway.

"You still have Holly Cottage?" She asked amazed. "I thought you'd sold it years ago."

"I couldn't bring myself to part with it. It was our home Freddie lived there." He left unsaid the fact that he had died there too. He hadn't been able to bear to live there without his wife and son either so the house had been empty for more than five years. He paid Mrs Thingie to keep it clean and aired and her husband did the garden. "Where did you leave your car?"

"It's in the village hall car park." She replied still looking bemused.

"We'll pick it up later, when you're warm and dry." He said deciding that in this instance he needed to take the initiative. He led her back to his car where Dervla greeted her with enthusiasm and drove to the little house on the other side of the green.

Sam still reeling from the unexpected turn of events meekly allowed her ex husband to steer her through the front door and into what had been her sitting room. It looked almost exactly as it had the day she'd left never to return. The big squashy and if the truth be told slightly shabby sofa was still opposite the window and she could swear the cushions were exactly where she'd last placed them. The blanket she'd crocheted when she was heavily pregnant, practically immobile and bored out of her mind was still folded across the back of the sofa. She and Freddie had snuggled up under that brightly coloured blanket so many times in his short life.

The photos lined up along the length of the mantelpiece recorded all the significant moments of their life together. The A&E fundraising dinner where they'd got together, her graduation, their wedding, the first photo of a five minute old Freddie, her and Freddie, Dylan looking so proud of his tiny son, one of all three of them. Then the line of pictures stopped abruptly. The others you would have expected to see; a christening, wobbly toddler, the first Christmas, first birthday were all missing. The gaps were a painful reminder of all the things that would never happen, that they would never experience together because Freddie was dead.

She was dimly aware of Dylan moving around the house doing things and heard the boiler fire up but she still started in surprise when he presented her with a steaming mug of coffee and a large towel.

"I've put the hot water on." He told her. "You can go and have a hot shower and warm up properly once it's had time to warm up."

He didn't wait for her to answer just set his mug down on the coffee table and bent to light the wood burning stove in the fireplace. She hadn't noticed it was already laid until he started.

"How long is it since you were last here?" she asked curiously. The house looked as if it had only been left for five minutes while someone bought a pint of milk but that clearly wasn't the case.

"Last in this house or Combe Bridge?" He asked cautiously.

She gave him a sharp look. He was being evasive and she wanted to know why. "Either - both?"

"It's five years or so since I've last been in this house." He answered her reluctantly. "I've been back to the village to see Freddie since."

"There isn't five years worth of dust here." Sam remarked. "My flat's dustier than this and I'm damn sure your boat isn't this clean."

"Mrs Thingie comes in once a month or so to keep the dust down." He admitted wondering why he felt like a criminal.

"Who's Mrs Thingie?" Sam queried. Actually she was fairly sure she knew exactly who Dylan meant but she was going to make him squirm.

"You know. Whatshername married to the shepherd at Appledore Farm."

"Do you mean Clemency Hobs who used to clean for us?" She asked him knowing full well that he did.

"If you already know – why do you have to go on about it?" Dylan replied exasperated. It was as if she enjoyed tormenting him about his inability to remember names. "Drink your coffee and then go and thaw out. I really don't want to have to deal with hypothermia."

Sam sipped the strong sweet coffee appreciatively. She didn't normally take sugar but she needed it today to counter the cold and misery that still enveloped her. For all that the house was warming up she was still cold to her bones. She was grateful Dylan had uncharacteristically not commented on her inappropriate choice of wet weather gear. She knew she was inadequately dressed in a thin business wear raincoat – the weather forecast for the Mendips had been appalling but she hadn't dared to put her big padded waterproof anorak on because Tom would have noticed and wondered why she was wearing that for a day in the medical school library studying for her exams. She hadn't wanted to wait for him to leave for work – it was a long drive to Combe Bridge from their shiny new flat in Portsmouth so she'd told him that she wanted to put in a long day at her books and get through her next set of exams at the earliest opportunity. She'd got away with wearing jeans, a hoodie and her comfy flat boots but she'd been sure that her waterproof would arouse suspicion. Once she'd been standing in the exposed country churchyard she'd cursed her decision not to wait for him to leave first but he'd seemed in no hurry to go to work. He hated having to work weekends when she was at home. If she was honest he hated her doing anything without him.

She pushed the thought away she didn't want Tom intruding on today or in this house. He didn't belong here. Sam hurried upstairs to the small bathroom for the promised shower without complaint. Dylan might be being a trifle bossy but she couldn't think of anything she'd like more than driving the chill out of her bones with some steaming water. Dylan had been there before her. The radiator was stacked with towels to warm them up and an elderly towelling dressing gown she'd forgotten ever owning was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. That was a win she could wear it, shove her own things in the tumble dryer and not have to put damp clothes back on.

After her shower she couldn't resist walking across the landing and opening the firmly closed door. Somehow she'd known the little boxroom would be untouched. They had wanted a surprise when Freddie arrived so they'd both deliberately not looked at the screen when instructed at Sam's twenty week scan. Sam had been determined there would be none of this pink for girls and blue for a boy nonsense for her baby. Baby Keogh was going to have a better start than that. So Dylan had painted the walls primrose yellow and put up a farm animal frieze in anticipation of bringing their baby home.

Clemmy obviously looked after this room as carefully as the rest of the house because she couldn't see a speck of dust anywhere. The empty cot was still made up with the quilt Miriam had made and the rainbow blanket she'd crocheted for him during that last endless fortnight on the sofa was neatly folded over the end of the little white cot. Everything was still waiting for the tiny occupant who had never slept there. He had slept in a basket beside their bed or more often snuggled between them because neither of them could bear to have their baby out of their sight while he slept in case his fragile body gave up before morning. It was as well that they had because tiny Freddie had died in their arms at that hour just before the dawn when the human body is at its lowest ebb.

Freddie had never stood a chance from the start. He'd been less than an hour old when he'd began to struggle, the healthy pink colour he'd been born with had faded and he'd began grunting. The medical staff had whisked their tiny boy away leaving Sam sobbing in Dylan's arms. Two hours later a sober faced paediatrician had shattered all their dreams as she gently told them that they should prepare themselves for the worst because Freddie had been born with a combination of heart defects which were very difficult to treat and he would need immediate open heart surgery.

He'd been rushed to a specialist children's hospital in an air ambulance before they'd had time to take in what was happening leaving his distraught parents to follow him by road. They had arrived just in time to kiss him before he was wheeled down to theatre and she'd spent the next eight hours almost sick with fear while a frantic Dylan tried to hide his anxiety and console her. She remembered him insisting the staff find her somewhere to lie down because she should still be in hospital and how he'd wrapped her in a blanket coaxing her to eat and drink while all the time his eyes had looked haunted and his voice had been tight with apprehension.

Much to everyone's surprise their frail baby had not only survived that first emergency surgery well he'd recovered well and when they'd seen Freddie in NICU he'd been a healthy pink colour which had given them cause to hope. Ten days later they'd taken him home to Holly Cottage to grow and prepare for the much bigger open heart surgery they knew he would need when he was about six months old.

The optimism had been misplaced; Freddie had deteriorated rapidly and had to have further surgery six weeks later. Afterwards the surgeon had gently told them it had not been successful and there was nothing more they could do. He'd advised them to take their baby home and love him and they had quietly vowing he'd spent enough of his short life in hospital and he'd spend whatever time he had left gently with them. They'd had just five peaceful weeks at home being his Mummy and Daddy and trying to ignore the sense of impending doom which hung like a pall over their lives before his tiny exhausted heart had given up the battle.

Sam reached into the cot and lifted out the small grey rabbit with white ears and pink nose that had been Dylan's first present to their tiny son. It had sat in Freddie's Moses basket until he died but the pristine condition of the fur and the crispness of the yellow ribbon was a silent testament to the fact that its owner had never lived long enough to play with it.

She sank into the cushioned armchair by the window stroking the soft fur and swallowed back the treacherous lump in her throat aware that the tears were trickling down her cheeks again. They'd loved Freddie so much he'd been such a wanted baby and he'd died. Yet every day in the course of her work she saw neglected children whose parents didn't love or want them. It wasn't fair. Maybe if things had been different she'd still have been living here Dylan's wife, Freddie's Mummy and maybe he'd have had brothers and sisters but the life she'd planned had collapsed around her when he died. People said that time helped but she wasn't sure it did. She'd learned how to hide the hurt. Had buried it so deeply that no one even suspected it was there but when it broke through the surface the pain was just as bad as it had been the day her baby had died.

"Sam." She turned to see Dylan looking anxiously at her. "Are you all right?"

"Not really." She admitted. "I'm not sure I ever will be again."

"Oh Sam." He was across the room in two quick steps and tugged her into his arms. She buried her face in the familiar comforting shoulder and let the burning tears flow. As was so often the case when faced with any sort of emotion Dylan appeared to be completely speechless but he held her close and gently stroked her back. She remembered criticising him for patting her on the back when he'd asked her why she hadn't told him she'd killed a man in Afghanistan but his touch was soothing and with hindsight maybe it would have been comforting if he'd just held her even if he hadn't had any words. She'd never know because that was another thing they'd not talked about until it was much too late.

Dylan felt as helpless as he had done the day Freddie died. He hadn't known how to help her then either and because he'd failed he'd lost her, lost the love of his life and his son in a matter of weeks. The pain he'd pushed away came flooding back and he almost cried out at its intensity. Somehow he had to find a way to get it right this time make it up to her for being so useless. If he could take her pain for himself he would but it wasn't that simple. If it was her body that was broken he'd know what to do but this wasn't a nice clean surgical wound and he couldn't mend her broken heart with anaesthetic, a few sutures and antibiotics.

He missed his son every single day so what must it be like for Sam, who had carried their son inside her for all those months. If only he knew what to say to her, but he still hadn't got a clue. It mattered so much and he had no words at all. What was there to say when your first and only child was dead? He settled for holding her tight and letting her sob hoping she'd realise how much he still cared.

Sam wasn't sure how long he held her but she realised dimly that for the first time in years she wasn't alone with the terrible empty ache that gnawed away at her most of the time and clung to him not ready to let go just yet. Eventually she became aware that he was shivering because he was still in his soaking wet clothes and freezing cold. She drew away gently intending to tell him to go and shower immediately before he succumbed to hypothermia but she paused to gaze into his eyes for a moment – the bright blue was clouded with tears and his lip was trembling. Freddie had had Dylan's eyes, she remembered that first moment of delighted recognition when after thirty miserable painful hours they'd given her their tiny son. She'd cradled him close to her chest completely elated with their baby. He'd opened his eyes looked straight at her and she'd seen his Daddy looking back at her. She'd cried then too overwhelmed with the sudden rush of love for Freddie and his Daddy.

Forgetting all the good reasons why she shouldn't do this Sam leaned forward and very tentatively pressed a soft kiss onto his forehead desperately trying to comfort him. Dylan pressed a rather clumsy kiss on her lips in response. For a moment Sam could have pulled away knowing this was a terrible idea but then he followed it with a second rather more expert kiss tangling one hand in her damp fair hair and despite herself Sam melted against him, kissing him back enthusiastically and threw caution to the wind. It was as if they'd never been apart. Right now this minute this was everything and all she wanted and she didn't care about what happened in the next minute let alone the next day.

It was pitch dark outside when she woke up but in deference to her fear Dylan had left a small night light on in what had been their bedroom and in the dim light she could see that like the sitting room and nursery Dylan hadn't changed a thing. He was still asleep snuffling softly beside her in the big bed. She stretched out luxuriously - she'd forgotten just how comfortable this bed was and it was at least a foot wider if not two than her current bed. When they'd bought it Dylan had spent what she privately considered to be an obscene sum on it and wondered how he could bring himself to do it as he was usually so careful. However it had been worth every penny she decided enjoying the deep mattress, soft sheets, squashy pillows and cosy quilt. She also felt safe for the first time in month secure in the knowledge that the man currently snoring beside her would not suddenly erupt with rage or make demands she was unwilling to satisfy. Sam tucked her head onto his shoulder and cuddled closer to him. He didn't wake up but wrapped his arm around her tugging her into his side and she dozed off again into a fitful sleep.

Dylan stirred resentfully he had been having such a nice dream, Sam was in his arms again and it was such a good dream he could feel her soft silky hair tickling his nose and smell the shower gel she used. He could even feel the weight of her pressing him into the mattress. He jerked awake in an instant suddenly realising the woman in his arms was real. Sam was in his bed. No they were in their bed in their old bedroom. What was she . . . She was crying he realised belatedly. He pulled her closer, holding her tight, letting her tears soak into his chest. She huddled against him sobbing like a terrified child while he stroked her hair gently murmuring soft words of comfort in a vain attempt to calm her.

"Sam sweetheart what is it?" He asked urgently.

"I just miss him so much." she whispered.

"I know. I miss him too." Dylan admitted."Every day."

"Do you hate me?" she asked him almost pleadingly.

"What for?" he was puzzled why would he hate her. He loved her – always had – always would.

"Because I couldn't keep our baby alive." She confessed. "It's all my fault. If he hadn't been born so early? If I'd only managed to keep Freddie safely inside me for just a few weeks longer? There might have been something they could do for him he might have stood a chance."

"Sam darling it wouldn't have made any difference you know that." He took a deep shuddery breath. "Even if he had been big enough or well enough for a transplant there's no guarantee he would have got one. You know how many babies die while they're waiting for a heart transplant. There was nothing you or I could have done differently that would have saved him Sam." And for the first time since it had happened he actually believed it. Six years of guilt rolled away in an instant, leaving only the regret behind.

"I know." she whispered "We were so unlucky weren't we."

"I was unlucky to lose Freddie but I was bloody stupid to lose you too." Dylan declared knowing it was true.

If he could go back he'd have done things differently. He wouldn't have let the tragedy that divided their life into two halves; before Freddie and after him separate them too. Somewhere along the lines he'd got it so very wrong. Husbands were supposed to be able to support their wives not push them away. If he had been a better man, a better husband he would have known how to stop the guilt that was eating away at Sam destroying their relationship from the inside. But he hadn't known how to and when she'd left him he'd let her go because he didn't have the courage to beg her to stay. He'd stifled his grief in righteous indignation and thrown angry accusations at her refusing to acknowledge that the wrong wasn't all on her side.

"I didn't want to leave." She whispered. "I just didn't know what else to do. You were so remote and angry. I thought me being here was making it worse."

"Oh Sam!" Dylan sighed. "If I was miserable when you were here it was ten times worse when you'd gone. But when I'd calmed down, had time to think. I thought you wanted out that you regretted marrying me because let's face it you would never have married me if you didn't have to – you've always been way out of my league. So I didn't go after you and I let you go without a fuss. I thought it would make you happy."

He froze realising he'd finally mentioned the elephant they'd sidestepped round for almost seven years. He'd loved her, known he wanted a life with her but neither of them had really been ready for a lifetime of commitment. It was the unexpected impending arrival of their son which had precipitated matters and perhaps if he'd had lived they could have made a go of it. But at the first hurdle his parents' marriage had fallen apart, driven apart by the paralysing grief of their loss rather than pulled closer together by heartbreak.

"I didn't marry you because I was pregnant." Sam declared indignantly. "I married you because I loved you. There's no way I'd have done it for any other reason. I always knew you only asked me to marry you because of Freddie though to shut all the gossips up. I just thought given time we'd be ok. That I could make it work because I wanted to so much but we didn't have any time did we?"

"How could you think I only married you because you were pregnant?" He asked her genuinely puzzled. "I admit I hadn't intended to ask you so soon it seemed unfair to tie you down when you were so young but if I hadn't wanted to marry you there were alternatives."

Somehow laying there beside each other it was easier to articulate the feelings and emotions they'd both kept hidden for years. They were still talking quietly as the first grey light of early morning shone through the curtains. Eventually worn out with tears and emotion they both drowsed off still wrapped in each other's arms.

Later Dylan sat on the edge of the bed sipping coffee watching Sam drink hers in bed. He'd done this so many times before he thought and for the first time thinking about their cosy mornings was pleasant rather than painful.

"It's a long time since I've had coffee in bed." Sam remarked calmly as if desperately trying to return to normal after the intensity of the previous night.

Dylan resisted the temptation to remind her that whatever his failings as a husband and he knew they were manifold he'd always brought her coffee in bed if he was there to do it. He'd always put the bins out too even if he'd sometimes got the dates mixed up and put them out on the wrong day. He wondered if Tom managed to put the bins out on the right day then pushed the thought away. Tom Kent did not have a place in this house not even in his head.

"I keep trying to train Dervla to make my coffee and bring it to me but so far it's not working." Dylan said desperate to keep things light.

"I think you're on to a loser there." Sam grinned at him. "Dervla's a clever dog but she hasn't got opposable thumbs. Thank God. Think how dangerous she'd be if she did. Where is she anyway?" She was surprised the spoilt dog wasn't on the bed or scratching at the door to be allowed to join them.

"In her favourite place, asleep behind the Aga. It's the warmest place in the house." He shivered suddenly.

"Why don't you put the heating on?" Sam asked sensibly.

"Can't – run out of oil." He admitted shamefacedly.

Sam dissolved into giggles. "How many times have I heard you say that?"

Dylan tried not to look sulky. He couldn't deny that he had often forgotten to arrange a delivery of oil for the central heating before they ran out and they'd been compelled to shiver until he could get the tank refilled. "I only ordered half a tank for this winter as the heating's only on frost free except when Clemmy cleans. I wasn't expecting to run it on high for hours."

"So you can remember her name when you want to." Sam said triumphantly. "For goodness sake Grumpy don't sit there and freeze. Get back in the bed where it's warm."

She didn't need to ask twice Dylan dumped his half empty mug on the bedside table and scrambled under the quilt trying not to create a cold draught to chill Sam.

"Christ Keogh your feet are freezing. Where are your slippers?" Sam complained as his feet made contact with her legs.

"I didn't pack them. I wasn't really planning on staying."

"Come here." Sam didn't wait for him to respond and pulled him into her arms. "I seem to remember we used to have a fairly foolproof way of staying warm when we ran out of oil."

"Have you ever thought that might be why I was always forgetting to order it?" Dylan gave her the rare half smile that had always made her go weak at the knees.

"Is that so?" Sam almost purred at him. "I'd never have thought you could be so Machiavellian although I suppose you are the man who learned to abseil to get me into bed. I've got to give you points for effort."

"It wasn't like that." Dylan protested. "It was for a good cause."

"I'm certainly a good cause." Sam agreed. "And this cause needs warming up."

To ensure he got the point she kissed him – thoroughly and enthusiastically effectively shutting her former husband up for some time.

Sam sat at the kitchen table with her back to the toasty Aga watching Dylan wash up. He'd produced great big bacon butties on crusty white bread with mushrooms, ketchup and more coffee and for once she'd said nothing about his dreadful diet. This was not a day to be worrying about caffeine, calories or cholesterol. She knew she should feel guilty about last night and this morning but she didn't. She had no regrets whatsoever about she'd just done and she knew that she should do. Dylan hadn't betrayed anyone – well as far as she knew he hadn't – she found she didn't want to think about him with anyone else so she shut that thought hastily down. She was the one who had become an adulterous wife for the second time.

When she'd had her ill fated affair she'd felt completely wretched about it but this time it simply felt right when it should have felt so very wrong. She was a dreadful immoral woman – she wondered if she was incapable of remaining monogamous if she was married. She suspected somewhere inside her she'd known what she was going to do when before her shower she'd calmly removed her wedding and engagement rings and slid them into the dressing gown pocket. She hadn't wanted any reminders of Tom in Holly Cottage. She wasn't even sure she wanted to leave and go back to him and the new life in Portsmouth. Right now the old life looked really quite appealing.

But this wasn't a fairy story and she could not slide seamlessly back into the life she'd left behind her almost six years ago. Even if they could go back Dylan had not said anything about wanting to. She'd made all the moves maybe he'd been too polite or too deprived to object. She was going to have to look on this as one stolen night out of time and leave with what dignity she could muster.

"I'll have to get back to Portsmouth soon." She said awkwardly "It's a long drive."

"Will you be all right," Dylan was looking at her anxiously."

"I'm fine." She lied.

"I'll finish this and then I'll give you a lift back to your car." He offered calmly.

Sam's heart sank. He thought he'd made a terrible mistake and couldn't wait to be rid of her."

"Thank you." she replied politely as if to a stranger. "But it isn't raining I can walk."

"Don't be silly. It's on my way." Dylan was clearly very impatient.

"Ok." Sam agreed quickly. If she was honest she wanted to snatch the last two or three minutes with him.

He didn't say a word to her as he shut up the house that had once been their home and she had to swallow the lump forming in her throat when he drove away. This was stupid she hadn't felt this awful when she'd left him and her home for good. Stop being so pathetic Sam admonished herself firmly. This is what you wanted. You wanted a divorce and you wanted to marry Tom. You have exactly the life you chose and now you'll have to make the best of it.

"Still driving the Beamer then." Dylan said as he pulled up next to her car and she steeled herself to get out and drive away from him.

"I'll probably drive it until it rusts away." She leant down to stroke Dervla, "Goodbye darling. I'll miss you."

Sam had her hand on her car door and was just about to get in when she realised he'd got out of the car too. He grasped her other hand and pulled her towards him.

"Next year?" He asked quietly.

"Next year." she agreed turning her face to his for one last kiss.

Dylan kissed her desperately wanting to make the most of this last chance and clasped her tightly to him, then resolutely they both turned away from each other. Dylan returned to his car for the long lonely drive home and she climbed sadly and resignedly into her own car and watched him until he was out of sight.

Removing the two rings from her purse where she'd secreted them earlier she reluctantly slid them back into place – suddenly they felt like shackles holding her back. Glancing down she saw her phone which she'd accidentally left in the passenger well almost 24 hours ago. There were 56 missed calls all from the same familiar number. For a moment she considered calling back then changed her mind. Whatever she said or did there was going to be hell to pay when she did get home. She wasn't sure she even cared part of her would enjoy the confrontation.

Dylan was curled up on the sofa catching up on his professional reading. He'd planned to go for a long walk with Dervla but it was a bank holiday weekend and he was off so of course it was raining. Frankly it was a complete waste of a three day weekend and he might as well have worked for all the good it was doing him. He was also lonely he acknowledged. For all the amorous Zoe and Max had annoyed him he missed their company now they'd moved into that ridiculous luxury apartment Zoe had rented.

He reached for another Jaffa Cake – one advantage of living alone was no one criticised his diet. As long as he offered her the occasional forbidden biscuit Dervla had no objection to him choosing a packet of Hobnobs and a cup of tea over a balanced nutritious meal and there was always cheese, olives and bread. He glanced at the photo of Sam and Freddie on the mantelpiece. He'd decided when he returned from Combe Bridge that it was no use pretending. There would never be anyone else for him and he was just going to have to come to terms with his past. He hadn't told Zoe or anyone else about his son he'd no wish to become a nine day wonder at work but when she'd moved out he'd got his photos out. It was better to live with the ache of remembering than try to pretend Freddie had never existed.

He heard a light step on the deck of the boot and waited for the sound of a free newspaper dropping on the doormat but it never came. Dervla melted away from his side and he heard her paws pattering on the bare staircase a split second before the doorbell rang. The next moment his ridiculous dog went berserk barking and leaping at the door.

He hauled himself to his feet and stomped upstairs after his dog wondering who was disturbing his peace.

"Shut up Dervla. Bad dog. Get down" He admonished the excited hound.

She didn't seem a bit abashed and continued to whine and paw at the door while he fumbled with the keys. The wood had swelled in the damp. He was convinced it had rained daily for months and he had to fight with it to get it to unlock. He wrenched it open and almost overbalanced as his daft dog was through the door like a streak of lightening.

A small blond figure bent to rub Dervla's ears as she bounded around her feet like a puppy.

"What are you doing here?" He asked stupidly.

"I'm glad someone's pleased to see me." Sam said standing up and looking straight at him. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

Dylan stared at her in disbelief. "You're forty-five weeks early." He said at last.

"Hello Sam, nice to see you." She replied. "You're the only person in the world who'd know that let alone say it. Are you going to let me in? It's a bit damp out here for me to talk to you on the doorstep."

He stood aside to let her in. "Here give me that you'll flood the place."Dylan pointed to her sodden waterproof.

Sam removed the soaking coat and he hung it with his own dog walking coat near the boiler to dry off, before leading her down to his living room such as it was. Dylan watched Sam glance around her and knew she was struggling not to make any comments about his living conditions. His boat had none of the home comforts of Holly Cottage. Recently he'd realised that he'd been living such a bare Spartan existence because he didn't think he deserved anything else. He'd even tried his best to rectify it. He'd bought a couple of rugs for the floor and a few cushions for the sofa. He'd started to keep his biscuits in a cheerful tin instead of the packet and he'd bought a plant which he was proud to say was still alive after three weeks. He could tell Sam wasn't very impressed though.

She didn't wait for him to ask her to sit instead she swept a pile of professional journals onto the floor and curled up in the corner of the sofa.

"Why are you here? We're not married anymore." He said baldly and immediately regretted his bluntness.

He had no idea why Sam had suddenly reappeared in his life but he was pleased to see her. He just didn't think he could bear it when inevitably she left him again and he had to pick up the pieces of his life once more.

"You don't change do you?" She sounded faintly amused. "Straight to the point as usual."

"Well..." he let the words hang in the air.

There was a long pause. Sam sat uneasily on the sofa absently stroking Dervla's back. If his faithless hound had been a cat she'd have been purring he thought resentfully.

"I'm sorry it seemed so easy when I was in the car." She said awkwardly.

"Spit it out." He was getting impatient now.

"I've left Tom." She blurted out "Or perhaps he's left me I'm not sure. It's over anyway."

"Why are you telling me this?" He demanded aware he wasn't being very kind or understanding but suddenly furious that she thought she could reappear in his life whenever she wanted then disappear yet again. "Have you decided you need good old Dylan to be your safe harbour until you meet the next sucker?"

"No." She practically spat at him. "I came... I came to tell you..."

"What." He was looming over her now and she drew back looking terrified.

She thought he was going to hit her Dylan thought feeling sick. He retreated to the armchair to give her some space wondering why she'd think that of him then he remembered someone else, someone else who had a violent temper he couldn't always control.

"He hit you didn't he." It was a statement not a question.

She nodded and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes threatening to spill over. "I feel so bloody stupid. I should have known better. I should have known men like that never change."

"It wasn't the first time was it?" Again he didn't need an answer.

"The first time was before we were engaged." Sam muttered looking down at Dervla so she didn't have to meet his eye. "He said he was sorry that it was an accident. It would never happen again and I believed him. I know it always happens again but I believed he was different I wanted it to be different. How could I have been such an idiot?"

"Oh Sam." He was up and sitting beside her before he really knew what he was doing and gathered her into his arms wishing he could get his hands on Tom Kent. He wasn't a violent man but right now he could happily kill the wife beating bastard with his bare hands.

"It was my fault." She stammered.

"No. No Sam it bloody wasn't you know it wasn't. Whatever you did or didn't do he had no right to hit you." He reassured her.

"He kept his promise." She continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Then when ... after ... well you know. I got into my car and I'd left my phone there. There were so many missed calls I knew I was going to have some explaining to do."

Dylan was instantly racked with guilt. He'd done this. The one magic night he'd grabbed at with both hands had done this much damage to her. He'd never intended. Intended what? He asked himself –to be fair he hadn't planned it. It had just happened but until this moment the only thing he'd been sorry about was that it had to end. He hadn't deliberately stolen a night with Tom's wife but a certain unreconstructed part of him had taken great pride in restoring to himself the woman the younger, fitter man had taken from him even if only a few hours. If Sam had any idea he was thinking like that he'd be wearing his liver on the outside he reflected guiltily. She'd say she didn't belong to him or Tom and she'd be right but there's no way he'd have turned down the chance for one more night with her in his arms when it presented itself.

"Is that when...?" He asked.

"No not then. I told him the truth about leaving my phone in the car but I spun him a yarn about going to home with one of the women in my training group to revise in comfort and falling asleep on her sofa after we'd sunk a couple of bottles of wine. He seemed to believe me. I thought that would buy me some time to decide what I wanted to do, formulate a safe exit strategy if you like. I already knew it was over. I think I'd already decided it was over when I got into the car and drove to see Freddie. I should have been able to talk to him to tell him the truth about where I was going and why and I couldn't." Sam explained. "That probably says it all really. If it hadn't been over I doubt I'd have slept with you. At least I hope I wouldn't have done."

"Thanks." He said dryly.

"I didn't mean it like that." She said hastily. "He'd been behaving badly for weeks. Months even. He'd been having vicious tantrums at home and at work, drinking too much, screaming abuse at me. He was becoming paranoid and suspicious. He was convinced I was seeing someone else even though I wasn't and wanted me to account for my every move. He'd taken to demanding sex and not really taking no for an answer it was easier to acquiesce than deal with the fallout. I think he was...is taking diazepam from work again."

"Again?" Dylan asked trying to contain his revulsion at the catalogue of abuse she was disclosing in in such a matter of fact way. If she'd told him this at Holly Cottage there was no way he'd have risked letting her go back into such dangerous circumstances. She was painting a picture of a violent and abusive man whose behaviour might escalate at any time and clearly it had. She must have known what a risk she was taking or perhaps she just hadn't wanted to believe it. He wished he could turn the clock back and prevent Tom from hurting her. He'd damn well do whatever it took to keep her safe and make sure it never happened again.

"There was a time in Holby – after you'd left." She added hastily "When he had a stress problem he started self medicating with diazepam from the controlled drug supply."

"Stealing it you mean." Dylan said he couldn't help the slightly sanctimonious tone in his voice. He'd screwed up in his time but he'd never resorted to helping himself from the drug cupboard. "He could have been struck off."

"I know. I know I should have reported him when I found out but I thought I could help him. " Her voice faltered "He's not the first doctor to have a problem with prescription drugs or the last and I wanted to him to get better. I thought he'd stopped he promised me he had - now I'm not sure he ever did. I've been such a fool."

"He's the fool not you." Dylan assured her. "None of this is your fault. You know it isn't."

"It's my fault I'm such a lousy wife." She said shakily. "This is twice I've managed to make a complete mess of it. I must be the common factor."

"It took both of us to destroy our marriage." He admitted softly "I was far from blameless and as far as I can see you've given Tom far more chances that he deserves."

"I still slept with you when I was married." Sam replied softly. "And I shouldn't have done. He deserved better than that and so did you. I think if there'd been anything worth salvaging I'd have felt guilty about it. I did ...before... but I didn't I wanted to stay I didn't want to go back to Portsmouth and Tom. I wanted our old life back."

"You didn't have to go back." Dylan replied. "You only had to ask. If you'd told me what he was like I'd have moved heaven and earth to stop you."

"I didn't know how." She said sadly "We were never very good at talking and anyway I don't think we can go back. I'm not sure anyone can. The life we had it's over it ended when we lost Freddie."

"I thought we were doing better." He said quietly. "We talked more that night than we ever had before."

"It was a start. After that I thought perhaps there was a chance we could glue some of the pieces of us back together but I didn't know how to begin and anyway I didn't know what you wanted." Sam gave him a very nervous smile. "Then yesterday it all came to a head. I'd decided I had to leave and I'd booked a hotel in my break. When he got in from work I told him I was leaving him. He went round the bend. I swear he was barely sane. He tried to physically stop me from leaving. He threw me on the floor, kicked me, punched me and then he locked me in. He said if he couldn't have me then nobody would. I knew then if I didn't escape I'd be another statistic."

"How..." Dylan was so angry he could barely get the words out.

"Did I get out?" She answered. "When he'd finished using me as a punch bag, he drank a litre of Vodka and passed out. I got the keys from his pocket and left. I'd already packed most of my things and put them in the car. I thought he might be a bit difficult - try to stop me taking anything but I hadn't expected that."

"Did he hurt you?" Dylan demanded. "Stupid question of course he did. How bad is it? Have you seen a doctor and been checked out?"

"I went to A&E in Swindon. I thought it was far enough away that he wouldn't catch up with me and no one would know me there. It's not part of the Holby or Portsmouth teaching areas. I told them I'd fallen down the stairs." Sam laughed mirthlessly. "When have we heard that one before? He didn't touch my face and hands so they might have believed me. It's hard to tell they were very professional. I didn't give my real name and address or tell them I was an A&E doctor it was all humiliating enough as it was. I was fairly sure he hadn't done me any lasting damage so I nearly didn't go but I had to be sure."

"Sure?" He queried.

"That Tom hadn't hurt our baby but he hasn't no thanks to me." Sam told him.

Dylan felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach and he couldn't look at her sure his feelings were written across his face. "You're pregnant?" He exclaimed.

"I didn't mean to tell you like that but yes. I realised on Thursday night. Stupid of me not to notice before really and I knew when he found out he'd kill us both. I couldn't let that happen. Although I handled it so badly he nearly did anyway. I shouldn't have stayed to tell him I was going I should have just slipped away after work and never gone back."

"It's not your fault." He said automatically trying to keep a lid on his fury. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. "He's a violent excuse for a man who doesn't give a toss about you or his child."

"It's not his baby Dylan." Sam reached out and took his face in her hands. "That's why I knew I had to leave."

"Not his..." Dylan was fighting with that treacherous hope that was suddenly springing up from nowhere.

"We weren't exactly careful in Holly Cottage." Sam said wryly.

"Careful. No I suppose not. You used to be on the pill." He said confusedly. "I thought... No I didn't think."

"Neither of us did." Sam said and he could hear the slightly nervous edge in her voice. "You'd think we'd both know better. Talk about the triumph of optimism over experience."

"Are you sure?" He asked still bewildered at the sudden turn of events but unable to stop the slow smile that was spreading across his face.

"That I'm pregnant or that it's baby Keogh." She asked curiously. "Yeah I'm sure. I've been pregnant before remember I know how it feels and as for how I know... I've been sleeping in the spare room since the beginning of March. Freddie is going to have a brother or sister."

"Sam... I..." he stammered helplessly, trying desperately to formulate some of his confused thoughts into words.

"Don't worry I'm not expecting anything from you." She said hastily. "I just wanted you to know."

"Not expecting anything." He was incredulous now. "You're having our baby but you're not expecting anything?"

"I'm a big girl now Dylan." She told him calmly "I can do this by myself if I have to."

Sam hoped Dylan couldn't hear the underlying tension in her voice she could do this by herself but she really didn't want to. She was damned if she'd be an obligation though she and the baby deserved better than that. He'd married her because she was pregnant all those years ago and that had hardly been a roaring success. She wasn't going to inflict that on any of them again.

"You don't have to." He said finally managing to get his head round it and hoping he was saying the right thing. "You're not on your own Sam. Not now. Not ever again unless that's what you want. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not just saying that because you think it's the right thing to say?" Sam sounded very uncertain. "This isn't exactly perfect..."

"I never wanted perfect. I only ever wanted you." He declared for once not caring if he made an idiot of himself.

"Are you sure. " She said tentatively hardly daring to believe it.

"What do I have to say to convince you?" He asked. "I love you – I always have."

January 2016

Dylan wrapped his arm tightly around his wife's waist as they stood in front of the small carved stone. The bottom third was buried in soft drifting snow and he was grateful for his thick boots and warm coat.

"Happy Birthday Freddie darling. We haven't forgotten you know." Sam chattered away to their son as if he was still there and could hear everything she said, seemingly unconcerned that she wouldn't be receiving a response. "We'll have a special dinner tonight with cake and candles for you."

Dylan wasn't sure about the birthday cake, they'd never done it before and it seemed a bit morbid but Sam had been insistent that this year they had to mark Freddie's birthday - his seventh she'd suddenly been afraid that it would seem as if they'd forgotten him now they had another baby and he'd gone along with it because she was so set on it. He'd simply said that in that case they would have a chocolate fudge cake to mark the occasion because it was his favourite.

He wished he could talk to Freddie the way Sam did. He hadn't forgotten his son he never could but he was acutely aware that wherever their baby had gone he was beyond their reach.

Felicity was different she was a very physical and very vocal presence in their lives. Freddie had never had enough breath to scream he'd expressed pain or hunger with a weak cry while their daughter made sure everyone around her knew she wanted attention. Most parents complained about the newborns incessant wail but Dylan couldn't hear it without an immediate surge of relief and gratitude. Their beautiful Flissy was reassuring her parents that she was alive and well.

Dylan gazed down at their precious little girl sleeping in the cosy sling against his chest. He was still unable to believe she was really theirs. She was two weeks old now and he had to pinch himself to believe she was there to stay. Sam had undergone every prenatal test available but he hadn't dared to believe them. Theoretically they'd both known there was no reason for another baby to have the congenital heart problems that had killed Freddie. His condition had not been genetic it had just been the worst possible luck but that hadn't stopped either of them from worrying.

He'd tried to conceal his own fears from Sam out of deference to her blood pressure, knowing she was already anxious to the point of making herself ill but he'd worried from the moment he'd known of her existence until Felicity had arrived ten days late, almost double her brother's weight and roaring her fury at being ejected from her nice warm cosy refuge into a cold noisy world. It was only when he'd looked at their pink, wriggly and enraged daughter cradled in her mother's arms already attempting to suckle because she was hungry and didn't care who knew it that he'd known that this time it was going to be all right.

"This is your baby sister Felicity." Sam went on. "When she's bigger we're going to tell her all about you."

"We should head back." He suggested mindful of the sleeping baby. She was well wrapped up but it was below freezing and the wind was getting up. "It's too cold to stand around outside with Flissy."

"I know. I just hate walking away from Freddie." Sam agreed slightly tearfully. She addressed the grave again. "Goodbye poppet. Daddy and I will come and see you again soon."

Dylan leaned forward, kissed her gently and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Come on darling. Let's go home. Freddie will always be here waiting for us."

She nodded and he led her gently away from their son's grave over the snow covered graveyard and out onto the snowy lane. He kept the steadying arm around her not wanting her to stumble on the uneven frozen ground. The short winter day was almost over, the setting sun coloured the sky red and tinted the snow pink and gold. Once they were on level ground he took her hand in his instead and they walked back to Holly Cottage hand in hand towards the brightly lit windows, warm fire and chocolate fudge cake that was waiting for them at home.


End file.
